


If You Need Me

by certaintendencies



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how Sam and Steve get their song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Need Me

 

It probably starts when they say goodbye at the VA.

 

They shake hands. Sam presses his card into Steve’s palm and says with what he hopes is the right amount of enthusiasm for someone he’s only just met but has known of his entire life, “If you need anything, just call.”

 

“I will,” Steve says, glancing down at the slip of cardstock in his hand and then back up, locking eyes in a way that makes Sam want to straighten his spine. “Thank you.”

 

Steve gets his wallet out as he pads gracefully down the steps to the sidewalk, tucking Sam’s card in neatly, and Sam bites down on his lips to keep his smile in as he turns and heads back inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They wind up rescuing each other a lot.

 

Steve has a worrying predilection for standing on or around things that eventually get blown up, and Sam gets shot at an awful lot nowadays, but with wings and a shield, they can usually back each other up pretty well.

 

It’s when they get separated that things tend to go wrong.

 

_“Falcon, what’s your status?”_

“All clear out here. Headin’ your way.”  Sam swoops low, weaving through branches and keeping his eye on the path up to the entrance of the Hydra base dug deep into the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Sheltered by a forest of redwood, it’s accessible only via a barely navigable mountain track. Or a winged jetpack.  Intel painted it as unmanned at the moment, due to the major network meltdown, but they had seen a few things on the way up that afternoon to make them suspicious; fresh tire tracks and some heat signatures from the mountain. Enough to keep them cautious.

 

Sam had stayed back to sweep the perimeter, but he’s preparing to join Steve on the inside when the mountain rumbles, accompanied by a burst of static through his earpiece.  Seconds later, a gust of hot air blows him back from the entrance, and his thrusters barely managed to compensate.  He stabilizes just in time to see a shining metal grate slam into place across the arched entryway.

 

“Fuck! _Cap_!”

 

The static continues in his ear as he shoots forward, straining futilely at the grate, rods of glinting metal two inches in diameter, intersecting every foot.

 

“Cap?” Sam tries again, flying back and searching the face of the mountain frantically. He discerns a rhythm to the static, speech-like but unintelligible, around the time the shooting starts. Dropping behind the tree line as quickly as he can, his evasive maneuvers aren’t enough to keep from getting clipped in the thigh. It’s a through and through, practically a graze, but knowing that doesn’t keep his leg from feeling like it’s on fire. He identifies three different barrels tucked into the side of the mountain, swiveling mechanically and letting off short bursts of fire in his direction as he flies up and away, out of their line of sight.

 

The buzz in his ears resolves itself back into a grainy, strained version of Steve’s voice as he clears the ridge of the mountain. _“-destruct system. All the exits are shut down. Come in, Falcon.”_

 

“Steve! You alright?”

 

_“Hey! Fine, I’m fine. Ran into a coupla stragglers, nothing I couldn’t handle. Got the data, shut down the weapon, accidentally triggered the self-destruct sequence, managed to lock myself in.”_

 

“The usual,” Sam summarizes with a smile, the relief at hearing Steve’s voice rushing through him like water, dulling the pain in his thigh. “How long you got before the whole place goes kablooey?”

_“Oh, few minutes at least. I’m heading up, the ventilation shaft is surprisingly roomy. All I have to do is figure out a way past the cooling system.”_

 

“You mean the big metal fan blades probably,” Sam answers. “Bet they’re sharp. Hydra seems pretty fond of building normal things in ways that can kill people.”

 

“ _I bet their insurance is ridiculous_.”

 

“Can you really see a Hydra goon filing workman’s comp?”

 

“ _I don’t think many people manage to limp away from workplace accidents here, to be honest_.”

 

“Probably by design,” Sam says absently, cresting the peak of the mountain and searching for the exit point, trying to recall the blueprints they’d gone over the night before.

 

_“Alright. Almost there.”_

 

Sam acknowledges and continues scanning the terrain, apprehensive. He spots a rock jutting up from the patchy snow with a strange, unnatural pattern dug into the face of it and goes to take a closer look.

 

He touches down gingerly, favoring his wounded leg, but despite the soft landing the reverberation through his boots feels off. It’s obviously not real granite. He peers down at the impressions in the surface and startles back when the whole thing begins to move. Taking off on instinct, Sam shoots backwards and dives for cover as the turret emerges from the rock.

 

“We got some wicked hide-a-keys up here, Cap,” Sam warns, weaving and dodging as the turret tracks him faster than he’d like, short, concentrated bursts of fire blowing craters out of rocks and branches off of trees as he pushes his body and the pack to their limits. His return fire bounces harmlessly off the turret. “I don’t- _Shit!_ I don’t think I can stick around for much longer!”

 

_“Fall back, we can rendezvous at the camp.”_ Steve’s voice sounds labored, a little short of breath.

 

“I’m _not_ lettin’ your crazy ass get shot to hell by a glorified security camera, and I’m _not_ leaving you to hike down an entire _mountain_ while you’re full of holes, sorry.”

 

_“You should be. You’re terrible at taking orders.”_

 

“Only when they’re stupid orders,” Sam grins, banking right and only barely managing to keep his neck locked against the g-forces. He swoops low, behind an outcrop of granite, and spreads the wings, swinging his legs out in front, boots crunching in the remnants of a snow pack. His thigh screams at the high-impact landing, and he sags against the rough rock, stretching his leg out.

 

_“So rude, too.”_

“ETA?” Sam asks hopefully, the firing has ceased, but he can still hear the mechanized whir as the turret swivels, searching.

 

_“Made it, I’m here. I’m just… Kind of afraid to leave my hole, to be honest. That thing looks angry.”_

 

Sam risks a glance around the edge of the boulder, eyes scanning quickly and catching a flash of blond hair disappear back down below the surface of the mountain fifty or sixty yards away, bullets ricocheting off the open grate he hadn’t been quick enough to close behind him.

 

“Hardcore whack-a-mole,” Sam coughs out a laugh and winces when it jars his leg. “Alright, I’ll take off, distract it long enough for you to make a run for it.

_“Not sure I like that idea.”_

 

Sam spreads his wings and hunkers down with a steadying hand on rock he’s hiding behind. “On three.”

 

_“Dammit.”_

 

“One.” Sam flexes his leg, leaning forward.

 

“ _Sam_ -”

 

“Two.” His body tenses, anticipating takeoff, but before he can get to three the mountain implodes beneath him.

 

He’s thrown forward, into the line of sight of the machine gun, but that’s been violently shifted as well. It’s still whirring as it bucks and rides the movement of the crumbling mountain top, swiveling and firing randomly, almost as if it’s confused.

 

Sam trips, his bad leg buckling, and then shoots up into the air, turning to look for Steve.

 

His bright uniform is a blur. He’s running full tilt towards the disintegrating edge of the mountain, shield up and shoulders hunched behind it, hiding from the stray bullets.

 

“On your right!” Sam shouts gleefully, changing direction and putting himself on an intercepting path.

 

His hand is out, arm stretched down, ready to pick Steve up and leave the nightmare mountain behind, when a burst of rounds from the still spraying machine gun hits his left wing, knocking him into a tailspin.

 

Things go fuzzy after that. He thinks maybe he hits his head.

 

He can hear Cap yelling.

 

***

 

“Sam!”

 

Steve watches, horrified, as Sam goes down, wings giving a few false starts and then folding in on themselves as Sam disappears over the edge of the mountain.

 

The earth continues to rumble beneath him, great creaks and cracks and groans fill the air, and centuries-old redwoods sway like palm trees in the wind. Steve lets his momentum carry him past the edge, stumbling and tripping his way down the side of the mountain, following the trail of snapped tree limbs and disturbed earth that Sam left. He scrabbles at branches to keep himself upright, fumbling from grip to grip as the ground gives way under his feet, going as fast as he dares.

 

“Falcon! Status, soldier!”

 

There’s a noise on the other end of the comm, difficult to discern amongst the snapping tree limbs and groaning earth, but Steve thinks it might be a grunt.

 

“Sam!”

 

 “ _Falcon here_.” Comes the eventual response. Sam sounds utterly weary, his deep, robust voice edged with pain. “ _I’m alive. Probably. Where you at_?”

 

“Headed your way. Hold tight.”

 

“ _I’m not goin’ anywhere, I promise_.” There’s another grunt, and Steve winces at the labored sound. “ _You wouldn’t happen to have an aspirin on you, by any chance_?”

 

“Sorry,” Steve swings himself over a fallen tree using his grip on a branch, lands hard and corrects his course, following a glimpse of something familiar through the underbrush. “Fresh out.”

 

“Useless. Utterly useless.” Sam says, his small smile betraying his words as Steve skids to a halt in front of him.

 

He’s leaning against a tree, body rocking subtly with the easing quakes of the mountain. He looks banged up but intact, although he’s pressing down hard high on the side of his thigh, the surrounding material of his fatigues saturated with blood.

 

“You’re hurt.” Steve drops to his knees, setting his shield down and hovering his hands over Sam’s.

 

“Clean through, nothin’ vital. We’ll wrap it and get back to camp. I’ll be fine as long as we can get outta here before infection sets in.”

 

“Extraction, right, hang on.” Steve shakes his head, standing up and digging into a reinforced pocket on his belt. He comes up with his Stark phone, speed-dialing Tony despite Sam’s protests that he’ll be fine once they get back to camp.

 

“ _Hey Cap, long time no hear. What’s goin’ on_?”

 

“Hey Tony, I need a favor.”

 

“ _A Tony favor, not an Ironman favor_.” Tony says matter-of-factly.

 

“Well, Stark Industries. I need a pickup.”

 

“ _Like a truck? You need a loan?”_

 

“Extraction.”

 

“ _How many_?”

 

“Two. In the mountains. One of us is wounded.”

 

“ _This wouldn’t happen to be the Sierra Nevada Mountains, would it? Like, the epicenter of the small but suspicious earthquake Jarvis is informing me is still kind of going on_?”

 

“Uh,” Steve glances at Sam, who is peering under his hand at his leg in wincing interest. “Maybe?”

 

“ _Right, I can have a chopper there in thirty. Turn your phone’s GPS on for coordinates. You should come visit me in Malibu; I’ve got a whole new place. I’ll invite a doctor, get your friend fixed up. Doctor or surgeon_?”

 

“Um, yes,” he relays to Tony, surreptitiously giving Sam a once over.

 

“ _Awesome. This your friend with the wings? How they holdin’ up?_ ”

 

“Um, they’re okay, I think they may have gotten shot up a little. Listen, I need to go… do stuff.”

 

“ _Oh sure, no problem_.”

 

“Thank you for everything.”

 

“ _Blah blah, see you in a bit_.”

 

The line clicks dead, and Steve stares at his phone for a moment, frowning, before shrugging. “GPS on,” he tells it, hopeful, and is rewarded with a small green blip in the corner. He tucks the phone away again and digs in a different pocket for his medpack, getting to his knees again and scooting closer to Sam. “Half an hour ‘til the chopper gets here. We’re going to Malibu.”

 

“Fun,” Sam decides, lifting his hands so Steve can get a look.

 

“I’m just gonna wrap it up for now, okay?” Steve confirms, setting the medpack down and tugging off his gloves.

 

“Sounds good.” Sam grits his teeth when Steve starts ripping his fatigues. “Don’t rip ‘em all the way off, yeah? I don’t wanna hafta meet Tony Stark wearing half a pair of booty shorts and all loopy with blood loss.”

 

“I could rip the other leg, too?” Steve suggest, smiling at the thought. “That would probably look less ridiculous.”

 

“Ha ha.”

 

Steve grabs the gauze and unrolls some, nudging Sam’s hand out of the way. He presses it down over the entrance wound, sliding his other hand around behind Sam’s thigh, hot and close between skin and fatigues, unrolling the gauze and snugging it tight.

 

Sam sucks in a breath, and Steve winces, trying to be even gentler. “Sorry.”

 

“S’fine.” Sam says through his teeth, fingers digging into the dirt beneath them.

 

Steve repeats the process, layering the gauze and killing the roll, hands slow and steady against Sam’s warm skin. He clears his throat. “Tony asked about your wings.”

 

“They took a pretty good hit. Think he’ll be able to fix ‘em?” Sam glances to the side, where the wing that got shot hasn’t folded away properly, a sharp tip still extruding from the pack.

 

“Hmm,” Steve says, keeping his smile to himself. Tony probably has three different prototypes ready for testing. “Probably. I’m more interested in _you_ gettin’ fixed up.” He secures the gauze and then pats Sam lightly on the hip. “All set. Hurt bad anywhere else?”

 

“Just bumps and bruises. My head hurts but I’m not dizzy.”

 

“Let me see,” Steve urges, swallowing when Sam tilts his head up and closes his eyes, offering his temple for inspection. There’s some swelling at his hairline, skin bruised and hot when Steve ghosts his fingers over the area.  He breathes out through his nose, letting his hand drop to Sam’s shoulder and squeeze. “Sorry.”

 

Sam blinks his eyes open slowly, catching Steve’s gaze. “Not your fault. What about you? How’d the blades of death treat you?”

 

Barking out a laugh, Steve drops back onto his rear end so he can hold up his left foot. “They got me.”

 

Sam takes one look at the sliced off toe of Steve’s dark red boot and doubles over laughing.

 

“Be nice!” Steve chides, scooting around so that he’s leaning against the same tree as Sam. “These were one of a kind.”  He stretches his legs out, wiggling his toe through the hole in his sock, and smiles when Sam laughs at him again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

tbc


End file.
